


A Lifetime

by Skeksi



Category: Merlin (1998)
Genre: As it appears in Merlin, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Femslash, Oops, POV Female Character, Paganism, Pre-Canon, Present Tense, Probably not that accurate to actual Pre Christian religion, Think I've ended up in a writing habit, for the second time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeksi/pseuds/Skeksi
Summary: A look at the history between Queen Mab and her former priestess Ambrosia (Merlin's foster mother). A response to the 20th Anniversary Fanwork Challenge for February (Prompt: Women)





	A Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so this was attempt number 2 at the February Challenge prompt for the 20th Anniversary Fanwork Challenge after the first one ground to a halt, and I say this to try and make an excuse for why I am posting it in, ummm... April... Oops!
> 
> So, this is meant to be a story about the history between Queen Mab and Ambrosia, from Ambrosia's perspective. It DOES contradict the part in the novels where Ambrosia notes that she hadn't seen Queen Mab since she was a child first serving at her shrine, prior to Merlin's birth. However, it always seemed from the scene in both the film and books that there was a bit more history there than that, and that the two of them had definitely encountered each other before on a few occasions. They're too familiar with each other for that to have been their first “proper” meeting, I think. 
> 
> I found Mab quite hard to write in this fic as in the earlier parts I was trying to write her with her Maiden and Mother aspects, whereas by the time the story is set she's basically lost those parts of herself – so yeah, apologies if these earlier parts didn't come off too well, but as with the previous challenge I wanted to actually get around to posting it rather than holding off indefinitely. Feedback is welcome!

The first time Ambrosia meets Queen Mab, she is a child.

 

She is the youngest of nine, short and scrawny, with a widowed mother too harried by her large family to pay her youngest any mind, or to protect her from being picked on by her older siblings. One day, after her older brother has said something particularly cruel to her, she had run out of the house in tears. In her distress, she hasn't really been paying attention to where she has been going, and so when the indignant childhood adrenaline runs out, and her legs begin to hurt, she stops outside an unfamiliar cave.

 

She peers inside hesitantly, and gasps at the beautiful carving adorning the back wall of the cave. It is not unusual to find shrines to Queen Mab in hidden places like this, but she has never seen one this intricate and stunning. Staring around and finding no-one else nearby, she scurries up closer and stares up at the triple goddess. The Maiden looks as though she is laughing – her hair hangs loose and a crown of flowers sits atop her head. Ambrosia doesn't quite trust her – she reminds her too much of a prettier version of Ambrosia's own oldest sister, all too ready to tell her how young she is, what a fool she is, what a bother... The Warrior, Mab-Morrigan, makes Ambrosia shiver a little – her gaze is hard, there is a sword dripping blood in her hand and a raven perched on her shoulder.

 

It is the last figure, the Mother, that Ambrosia lingers on. Her hair is gathered up in a more practical style, like her own mother. But she has wise eyes and a kind smile, her hand stretching out as if to pull a child into an embrace. This wasn't a mother who would brush her off, who was too busy with work and eight other other children to ever pay attention to Ambrosia. The child reaches out to touch the carved folds of the figure's skirt, and sniffles sadly to herself.

 

“Why are you crying, Ambrosia?”

 

The skin on her arms prickles – Ambrosia doesn't know quite why – and she turns to face the strange, whispering voice, only to be confronted by the same woman made flesh – Queen Mab, in her Mother aspect. She whirls from Mab to the statue and back again in amazement. She has never imagined that Mab would appear to her. She thinks that perhaps she should bow, or kneel, or at least say something … holy? But then Mab reaches out her arms to her, like her statue, and Ambrosia flings herself at the goddess and wraps her arms around her waist, sobbing into her dress.

 

Mab rests a hand under her chin and tilts her head up so that the goddess can look her in the eye.

 

“There now...” Her voice is strange, otherworldly, but Ambrosia finds it soothing for all that, “Why did you call out to me?”

 

“I didn't mean to!” Ambrosia replies through her hiccups, “But my brother... he stole my food and pushed me over. Then when I cried he said I was stupid.” She continues dejectedly, “And my mother doesn't care. I tried to tell her, and she just said not to bother her. I was _hungry_ , and he wouldn't give me any food, and then he said I was useless and if I starved to death it would mean the rest of them would get more to eat.” She has recounted all of this in a rush, and it is only afterwards that she thinks that perhaps this is not the sort of thing that goddesses are supposed to be summoned for. She releases Mab's skirts quickly and steps backwards, “Am I in trouble? I didn't mean to summon you, I was just looking at the carvings...”

 

Mab smiles kindly, “No, Ambrosia, you are not in trouble. In fact, I have a gift for you.” She snaps her fingers, and suddenly a plate of bread and cheese and fruit appears before her, along with a cup of watered wine. Mab gestures at it, “For you.” Ambrosia gasps, for it is a finer meal than she can ever remember eating in her life, but at another nod from Mab, she falls on it hungrily, momentarily forgetting her sadness.

 

“Thank you, Queen Mab.”

 

She is only two mouthfuls into the meal when she hears her brother's voice distantly calling her name. Perhaps her mother had forced him to come out looking for her after all? If so, Ambrosia wishes that she hadn't, for he will only steal her food and tell her whole family about this beautiful cave with the carvings and the goddess and then it won't be her secret any more. Her face falls. Mab glances at her curiously, and then at the boy who appears in the mouth of the cave a moment later.

 

“Ambrosia!” He sounds cross, “You stupid... Oh,” he sees Mab sitting behind his sister, “Who are you?”

 

Mab raises an eyebrow and doesn't reply, turning to Ambrosia instead, which makes the child feels somewhat smug in itself, “Is this your brother?”

 

Ambrosia nods, “Yes,” she replies sullenly.

 

“Hmmmm...” Mab muses, “Perhaps I should put a curse on him? What would you choose, Ambrosia?”

 

Her brother's eyes widen, “C-curse? What? No!” He seems to finally recognise Mab from the carving behind her and he has gone as white as snow.

 

“No? Well then....” Mab doesn't move a muscle, but suddenly a flurry of grit and pebbles flies from deeper inside the cave, pelting the boy, “... I suggest you leave.” He turns and runs as fast as his legs will carry him. Mab exchanges a glance with Ambrosia and her eyes seem to glow orange. A moment later she hears her brother cry out as more pebbles pelt him on his way down the hill and across the fields.

 

Ambrosia gasps and giggles in delight. Mab smiles indulgently down at her.

 

“Perhaps that will improve his disposition somewhat,” she says drily, “Though I'm afraid I can make no promises on that score.” She turns back to Ambrosia, “You should finish your meal.” Ambrosia nods and tucks back in with gusto.

 

“I don't think he will like me any better. But he's never liked me anyway,” she replies around a mouthful of food.

 

“Your brother is a fool,” Mab replies simply, “You have a look of destiny about you, Ambrosia. I cannot predict the future, but I daresay we will meet again one day.”

 

“Really?” Ambrosia asks, swallowing her last mouthful of food and turning to face Mab with wide eyes.

 

“Perhaps, when you're older.” Mab stands as if to leave, “For now, you should go home. And remember, should your family prove … unsatisfactory... there is always a place for you among the faithful.”

 

Ambrosia stands too. She turns to leave, and then on a whim, whirls around to wave Mab goodbye. Mab seems somewhat surprised by this, but nevertheless she raises a hand in return to Ambrosia as she vanishes in a flicker of light.

 

Ambrosia runs home with a full stomach and a smile on her face, and a new and unshakeable determination to serve the lovely goddess from the cave when she is older. Until then, she will visit the cave with the carving every day to remind herself, even though it is many years until she sees Mab again in the flesh.

* * *

 

The second time Ambrosia meets Queen Mab, she is a young priestess.

 

It is autumn – harvest time – and she is bringing an offering of fine baked bread and fruits to Mab's shrine. She touches her triskelion necklace, mutters a prayer and lays the basket carefully down before the carving of her goddess. It is not so fine a likeness as the one in the secret cave of her childhood, but it is similar enough to remind her of the day in the cave that set her on this path to serve Mab, and the memories warm her heart.

 

When she stands, she gasps and jumps backwards to find that there is another woman in the shrine with her, standing in the shadows. The other woman laughs.

 

“Am I so terrifying to you, loyal one?” She steps forward out of the shadows, and it seems to Ambrosia that the sunlight rushes to embrace her, shining on her pure, white dress and pale skin.

 

“Lady,” she breathes, and falls down again to her knees, “Queen Mab. I am sorry. You startled me.”

 

“You may rise.” Mab's voice sounds amused, and Ambrosia scrambles to her feet, feeling rather foolish. To see Queen Mab again was, after all, why she had become a priestess in the first place, she should not have been so surprised that it was so. “You are new to this shrine, are you not? I haven't seen you here before.”

 

“Yes, Lady,” Ambrosia replies firmly, pleased that she manages not to stammer this time. Then, more boldly, “But I have met you before.”

 

“Yes, I remember,” Mab replies, “I do not forget a face so quickly, particularly such a pretty one.” The words are spoken lightly, but they cause Ambrosia to blush down to her toes. “And it seems I was right after all. Perhaps Lord Idath should set aside that cauldron of his and simply ask me to tell the future for him. You have grown a great deal since I saw you last, Ambrosia.”

 

“We humans do, my Queen.” Ambrosia says. Once again she continues without thinking, “You have changed a great deal too.” For now she is clad in her role as the Maiden. Her magnificent hair hangs loose, inky blacks waves framing her face and gleaming white dress, tangled around the crown of wheat and wildflowers that she wears on her head. Even though her features haven't really changed, she looks younger, more Ambrosia's own age, her eyes sparkling with mirth rather than motherly wisdom. Ambrosia scolds herself internally for ever thinking to compare Mab to her sister, for truly, she is stunning beyond anything the young priestess has ever seen.

 

“Not changed. I am as ever I have been and ever will be,” Mab replies, gesturing at herself, “I merely change which aspect I choose to embody.”

 

“Of course, my lady,” Ambrosia replies quickly, not wanting Mab to think she is some fool girl that has turned to the priesthood for food and the reverence of the common people and hasn't even bothered to learn about the gods that she follows. Ambrosia had known a few girls like that when she was in training. Most of them hadn't made it to the rank of full priestess, and if she'd had any say in it, none of them would. “It's just that I've always remembered you as the Mother, all these years.”

 

“It was the form that you wanted to see the most, I think.” Mab said, gesturing to the carving beside her, “Sometimes the situation calls for the Mother, and sometimes it calls for me as I am now.”

 

“And sometimes the Warrior,” Ambrosia adds, then cringes internally, _“Fool girl, you think she can't remember her own aspects?!”_ Mab tilts her head to one side and quirks her mouth slightly in a half smile.

 

“Yes...” she draws the word out, “And the Warrior. Were you hoping to meet the Morrigan, rather than me, Ambrosia?”

 

“No, my Queen!” Ambrosia blurts out, not wanting Mab to think her ungrateful for appearing to her again, for fulfilling her deepest wish. “I mean.... of course, we would be honoured to receive a visit from any of your aspects, including the Morrigan, whichever you choose. I mean, we _are_ honoured... I... I am making a damned fool of myself, aren't I?” she finishes, noticing that Mab is trying not to laugh, and only barely succeeding.

 

“I have known several fools, Ambrosia, and you don't strike me as one of them. Well...” Mab trails off mock doubtfully towards the end of her sentence. Ambrosia laughs at that, beginning to find herself more at ease with Mab's company, “Anyway, as you say, it is my choice which aspect to appear in. I have been the Warrior too often of late. Tonight, I choose the Maiden.” Her eyes darken somewhat, “If these Christians don't leave my country soon, you will likely get your chance to see me as the Morrigan.” She shakes her head and the cloud vanishes as soon as it came, “That is a matter for another day.”

 

“And how may I serve you on _this_ day, Lady?”

 

“I think that today, Ambrosia, I would like to celebrate the Harvest in your company.” Mab links her arm with Ambrosia's, and turns to face her with a mischievous look in her eyes, “As for how you can serve me, Ambrosia – food of the gods - let's start with a kiss, shall we, and see where we go from there?” She laughs again as Ambrosia's face turns red and she is left wordless.

 

* * *

 

 

Ambrosia sees Mab many times after that, as the years pass and she grows into a confident and practical woman, rather than the youth that had stumbled over her words that first day in the shrine. For all that, the sight of Queen Mab still has the power to momentarily rob her of speech and thought. Her Queen appears sporadically- sometimes only a few days after her last visit, sometimes letting months drift by before she appears again. Ambrosia doesn't mind. It is enough to know that Mab _will_ return.

 

Mab's frequent appearances to Ambrosia have been noted. She is seen as one of the Queen's favoured – and she knows that she is “one of the favoured”, rather than “the only favoured”, and she doesn't mind that either. Mab is not human, and she does not see the world as humans do, see life as something to be shared with only one. It is enough to know that Mab does care for her, however many others she cares for too.

 

Mab always appears to Ambrosia in her Maiden aspect, youthful and quick limbed and drawn to joy. She laughs and dances around the bonfires that the druids and priestesses build to honour her visits, she smiles graciously as the younger initiates bring her gifts and sing and dance in her honour. Occasionally she reminisces about days of old – once, she tells Ambrosia, when the Romans had first begun to convert to this new religion and had declared war upon the gods of Britain, they had captured Romans and burned them in a wicker man as a sacrifice to the very gods they hated. Mab looked somewhat nostalgic at the thought – Ambrosia had quietly and drily noted that it sounded like a very inefficient way of getting rid of the Christians.

 

“Mmm, yes,” Mab had replied, “There is something to be said for efficiency. Though I would prefer if there was less need for it.”

 

In quieter moments, she draws Ambrosia away through the woods and shows her the locations of other shrines and carvings, of trees and rocks and animals imbued with Old Magic. There are fewer of them than there used to be, Mab muses.

 

In quieter moments yet, she teaches Ambrosia some different lessons altogether. The Maiden may be her aspect, but not, it appears, by every definition. Ambrosia welcomes Mab's touch, her lips, her mouth.... She knows that she will never share what others share with their lovers – marriage, a home, children, or even simply waking up in each other's arms every morning. But she also knows that those others will not see a goddess in her softest moments, will not literally feel the magic that courses through the world running through their entire body, and so she feels that it is a fair trade.

 

Mab hasn't appeared to her in her Mother aspect for years - “I do not think you want me as a mother any more, sweet one,” she had noted drily that last time the subject had come up, and in truth, she was right. Ambrosia was a grown woman now, and though she loves Mab as entirely as she ever had when she was a child, it is no longer that part of her that calls to Ambrosia.

 

Nor has Ambrosia ever seen Mab's warrior aspect- the Morrigan. She knows that Mab takes on this form more often than not – more and more the Christians spread their intolerance across the land, more and more those faithful to the Old Ways must rise against them. But this shrine is far from King Constant and his armies, and whenever Mab appears here, she is the Maiden once more. Ambrosia wonders if this is something of an escape for her.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Ambrosia encounters Mab in her final aspect, she nearly dies.

 

She is one of the most senior priestesses at the shrine by this time. The others look to her for guidance. And so, when one of them spots Constant's men riding in fast from the east, they come running to Ambrosia, in the hope that she will know what to do. She runs out and peers down the hill at the soldiers heading towards them, and can tell them nothing but “Run.”

 

She runs around the collection of small buildings near the shrine, hammering on the doors to wake the others. By the time she turns back to the shrine, the first horses are almost upon them. Ambrosia only has time to clutch her necklace and mutter a fevered prayer as one rides straight at her, sword raised.

 

And then, salvation. Screaming warriors charging up the hill, wearing pagan symbols painted upon their bodies and shields. And in their midst, a woman with long black hair that Ambrosia barely glimpses, but knows must be Mab. The soldier before her hesitates, as his horse bucks and tries to turn away from the onrushing charge – he eventually brings it under control, but his only reward is to be the first one cut down.

 

The Christians begin to turn and run – they may be mounted, but they are also outnumbered. A few attempt to stay and fight, and some of the pagan warriors fall to their blades – but then their horses are cut out from under them, and they tumble to the ground to be impaled by the blades and spears of their enemies. More warriors chase after those who flee. Most of them are able to ride away, but others still fall.

 

Ambrosia watches, frozen in place, as the warriors let out a cheer. Most of them follow their comrades down the hill to watch Constant's men retreat, leaving bodies in their wake. The ground is stained red with blood. She takes a moment to collect herself, then turns to the younger priestesses, gives them instructions to gather up the pagan dead and prepare the bodies for funeral rites.

 

“And the Christians?” one of them asks.

 

Ambrosia pauses a moment. “Pile them at the bottom of the hill with the others,” she sighs, “We'll have to decide what to do with them later.”

 

It is only after the priestesses run about their preparations that Ambrosia goes to find Mab. It is not hard – she stands glaring down at the body of one of Constant's soldiers, her warriors keeping a respectful distance. As Ambrosia approaches, Mab turns, and she gets her first look at the Morrigan.

 

Her hair hangs straight around her, hard lines more suited to this aspect than the soft waves she usually wears. Her dress is deep black, with feathers at the shoulder, as if to almost mimic the ravens that are beginning to gather above the bodies. And her eyes are hard, devoid of all of the spark and softness of her other two aspects. There is a spray of blood across her face – not hers, of course, simply a mark from where a soldier was cut down near her – but she makes no move to wipe it away, and in some macabre way, it suits her. She smiles coldly when she sees Ambrosia approach.

 

“I told you that you would see me one day, Ambrosia.” Her voice is a hiss, as harsh as the cry of the ravens above. Ambrosia cannot help herself – she draws back slightly. Mab laughs, humourless, “Are you afraid of me?”

 

“No, Lady,” Ambrosia replied, forcing her voice not to shake. Mab raises an eyebrow.

 

“Liar.” She turns away, “Your words are your bond, girl, you know that.”

 

“I'm sorry, Queen Mab,” Ambrosia replies, momentarily repentant, “You're right. I am afraid of you. I didn't mean to cause offence- is it not the role of the Warrior to strike fear into the heart of mortals?” Mab turns to face her and regards her coldly.

 

“It is the role of the Warrior to destroy my enemies, Ambrosia. To bring death to them. It is not me who nearly rode you down at the shrine – go and look upon him with fear, if you cannot look upon me at all, and stop wasting my time.”

 

“That wasn't what I meant...” Ambrosia says gently, going as if to touch Mab's arm. Mab hisses in fury and sends her falling backwards in a gust of air. Before she can pull herself up from the ground, Mab is standing over her.

 

“You serve _me_ , Ambrosia, not the other way around. Do not think to take liberties simply because I have favoured you in the past. Others have tried, and they have found themselves my enemy – would you prefer to face the Morrigan as an enemy, when you can barely face me as your Queen?”

 

Ambrosia attempts a light tone, despite the hurt and the fear pulsing through her, “I can think of worse ways to die.” Mab raises an eyebrow and smirks coldly.

 

“Oh, so can I. I have quite the imagination.” The threat hangs heavy in the air.

 

Ambrosia takes a deep breath, “All I meant, Lady was... You've been part of my life since I was a child. You've been a goddess, my Queen, my lover, my – my friend. Even a mother to me. What better way to die than at your hands?”

 

Mab growls, “I am not your mother, Ambrosia. Or your friend.”

 

“No,” Ambrosia says, trying to be reasonable, trying to pull the conversation back onto safer ground, “Not now. But you are not just the Warrior, you ARE the mother and the maiden too, I know that...”

 

Mab looks stricken for a moment, then turns away and snaps “Leave me!” Ambrosia is hurt, but she obeys, clambering to her feet and turning from the terrifying apparition before her, running back to the safety of the shrine. As she reaches the top of the hill she hears a dreadful caw-ing noise, and she turns back just in time to see the gathering ravens dive down as one black, feathered mass and begin to pick the flesh from the bones of Constant's dead men.

 

They will need to abandon the shrine - to move to somewhere more hidden now that Constant's soldiers know where they are. She swiftly sets about ordering the other initiates to do just that, and when she returns to the battlefield later, to find Mab and try and apologise, Mab has already gone. Hours later, Ambrosia lifts her own pack of belongings and sets out with the others, away from the place that has been her home and happiness for the last fifteen years and more.

 

It is years – decades, even – before Ambrosia begins to wonder if Mab was already losing her Maiden and Mother aspects then.

 

* * *

 

 

Years pass, and Ambrosia doesn't see Mab again. She is too busy fighting the Christians to visit those who tend her shrines, if she celebrates her festivals at all Ambrosia believes she must celebrate them with her pagan warriors – celebrate between bloody battles. Or perhaps for the terrifying warrior aspect of Mab, the bloody battles are a celebration of their own. Images flicker across Ambrosia's mind of the Queen of the Old Ways dripping in Christian blood with ravens flying around her. She snorts and dismisses them as fancy. Once she could afford to let her imagination wander, these days the constant threat of war and influx of terrified worshippers means she has to be more practical.

 

More years pass. The battles grow fiercer, and Mab still doesn't come back.

 

At first, Ambrosia's prayers are steadfast, calm. She has faith that Mab will come to her eventually. She does not.

 

Her prayers grow more fervent. She begins to believe that perhaps she has driven Mab away – that her fear of the Morrigan had hurt the Queen of the Old Ways. _Please. Come back. I need you. WE need you._ She still does not.

 

* * *

 

 

Followers begin to drift away from Mab's shrines. They say that she doesn't care anymore. Better to join the Christians and pay lip service to their god than be slaughtered by them in the name of a goddess that has all but vanished. When she was young, Ambrosia would have been angry with them. Now her hair is turning to grey and her hands are calloused from hard work and she has long ago realised that Mab's leaving had nothing to do with her. Likely, Mab had never given Ambrosia's fear a second thought, a fleeting moment in eternity for her, another scared follower. In her own way, Mab is as inscrutable as the Christian's god, and just as different from her followers. Ambrosia can no longer blame them for choosing life over faith. Life is short, after all. Instead she steels her spine, gathers the druids and priestesses that remain at the shrine and puts them to work helping the sick and injured that still come to them. She will bring people back to Mab in her own way – by helping others.

 

As the years go on, the sting of abandonment fades to a dull ache. Ambrosia works hard. She still tends the shrine, she still says her prayers, she still heals and blesses people in Mab's name. In her heart, she knows that she may never see Mab again – or at least, if she does, it will never be as it was before. The world has changed too much, and so has she. But she still has faith that Mab does care, in some small way.

 

* * *

 

 

When Vortigern appears on Britain's shores and cuts down Constant, Ambrosia knows instinctively that this is Mab's doing. Or the Morrigan's doing, at any rate – because the Mother, in her kindness and wisdom, and the Maiden in her love of her people, would have to know that unleashing a Saxon beast on the land will lead the land to ruin in the long term.

 

And they would have been right – Ambrosia and her fellows no longer need to bother hiding from the Christians, for now they are _all_ , Pagan and Christian alike, hiding from Vortigern. She knows that Mab would never have given her consent to this, surely she must have some plan to get rid of Vortigern as she finally succeeded in getting rid of Constant before him?

 

The day Vortigern's men attack the shrine is when Ambrosia's faith finally breaks. She stands amongst the ruins of the shrine, and the bodies of her friends, and feels something inside her snap, faith and love turning to anger in an instant. She had done her best. They had all done their best. And Mab had abandoned them. Ambrosia does the same to her – throwing aside her triskelion, and forsaking the goddess she had vowed to serve above all others. And not, she thinks to herself, a moment too soon.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Ambrosia sees Mab is just over 9 months later. Had someone told her beforehand that her journey to Avalon is what would bring her face to face with her former Queen again, she would have laughed in their faces. But here they stand, Mab with her gnomish lackey in tow, and Ambrosia holding the child she had created in her arms. Fate, Ambrosia thinks tartly, has a terrible sense of humour.

 

Mab looks as ageless as ever, but she has still changed. The kindness of the Mother, and the laughter of the Maiden, they are gone from her face. She is the Morrigan entirely now, and even when she stares at Merlin, even when she looks at Ambrosia, and her former priestess can see that she _wants_ to draw on her other aspects, she cannot. It is as if part of her has died. Even through her anger, Ambrosia pities her, even with Elissa dying beside them and the memories of the massacred shrine, part of her wants to embrace Mab as though she was still young and Mab was still whole. But there is more at stake than the two of them now – a tiny child now held in Mab's arms, and Ambrosia knows too well that the part of Mab that had comforted her as a child, and that could have raised Merlin and shown him how she loved him was gone.

 

She made a promise to Elissa. And so she holds Merlin in her arms, and this time it is her who sends Mab away.

 

* * *

 

 

The last time Ambrosia meets Mab is almost 20 years later. She is an old, old woman, and her body is failing. She knows that she is dying, and all she hopes is that she sees Merlin one last time before she makes the journey to the Summer Land.

 

Had Ambrosia known when she was younger that she would see more of Mab after leaving the Old Ways than in the 20 years beforehand, she would probably have left much sooner, she thinks with a smirk. Though, Mab is furious, and does a poor job at containing it – young Ambrosia would sooner have cut off her own foot than made Mab so angry, so perhaps not. As it is, Ambrosia-the-old-woman rather enjoys rattling Mab further. She feels that she has earned it, after a lifetime spent serving her in one way or another, and decades of disappointment. And what can Mab do, after all, but kill her a few hours early?

 

Ambrosia remembers the first time she met the Morrigan. And after all these years she has not forgotten that fleeting thought and those awkward stumbling words, _I can think of worse ways to die._ Before Merlin had come into her life, Mab had been the very centre of her existence. In some ways, she still was – Merlin's mother, the one who had allowed Ambrosia to raise him, antagonistic now but still a force in her life. And perhaps she would still rather die at her hands, for she continues to wind Mab up – and when she refuses to send Merlin back to her, that is the final straw.

 

Mab's scream sends air spinning around the hut. Ambrosia is struck by flying debris, but she cannot seem to feel it. She is not sure if it is the spell sucking away her energy, or simply her failing heart finally giving out. As she falls to the bench beside her, she hears Mab go quiet, and then come over and stare at her in puzzlement. Ambrosia fancies there is a flicker of concern there, too.

 

She chuckles to herself. _Well, Ambrosia, you got your wish in the end_...

 


End file.
